Being Human
by lisa grim
Summary: Sherlock was sure he knew exactly how John would react to his return. He wasn't right though. Post-Reichebach. Based on "The Adventure of the Empty House" by Arthur Conan Doyle. Sherlock/John, Jim/Sebastian. Warnings: OOC, angst, spoilers for TRF, cliffhanger.
1. Chapter 1

**DO READ:** **This story hasn't been betaed**. I looked through beta-list and for my regret I haven't found person, who is alright with hints of slash, OOC and angst.

So, English is not my native language and isn't even second language. I am really sorry if there are too much grammatical errors and it just cuts your eyes. If there's anyone, who could beta my story, please send me a message, I'll be very happy to see my work checked by somebody else's eye.

Please do review and say whether you like it or not.

This is my first fanfiction **ever**.

And, of course, I do not own Sherlock.

Chapter 1

Three years have passed since the last time Scotland Yard's best detectives have encountered with a crime, which they could only identify as «arduous». Fortunately (or not) they had have an outside help – Sherlock Holmes, the only consulting detective in the whole world – now only known as a fraud. Despite the fact, that his suicide was mentioned almost in every newspaper, there are a very few people, who still remember him.

Nevertheless, exactly this fact served Sherlock Holmes a useful purpose.

He was sitting on a couch, which seemed to be older than he is, in a dusty room. He rented this flat two month ago, when he arrived in France. Silent place on the edge of town with no living soul inside or around the building – isn't it what he always needed? Of course it was quite difficult to solve crimes and even follow them, while having no Internet access or TV. Especially difficult was solving them without police noticing him. Well, he could worm himself into French detectives' confidence and it would make everything much easier except there is possibility - and quite big one - that he will be identified. He was perfectly alright without rewards; Mycroft have never forgotten about his younger brother.

Still, he has to hide here – in a room full of old newspapers in English and French with his quick and clumsy notes. Somewhere among them was Sherlock's daily listener – old skull that used to be situated on the mantelpiece on 221B Baker-Street. Apart from newspapers, couch, skull and thin dark-haired man, this flat included an old table where above-stated man conducted his chemical experiments.

He _is_ bored.

Sherlock placed his hands on one of the newspapers he has already read three times. One of the articles was about «mysterious» murders in London. «Police reached an impasse» - this phrase made consulting detective smile every time, an action he did quite seldom recently. It also made him think about going back to London. Not because Scotland Yard needs him, not because he wants to solve these crimes, no. He knows exactly who is behind these murders and he wants put an end to it. And he wants to be back, at least for some people.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

He arrived in London on Tuesday at 4:33 am. City seemed the same to Sherlock, while he was on his way in a cab, but Sherlock didn't seem the same for city: his hair were shorter and tousled, he haven't shaved for months, his skin had an unhealthy grey colour and his index and middle fingers were dirty-yellow from intense smoking.

He still wore his long coat. It didn't look so new and stunning of course, but Sherlock enjoyed wearing it. It always gave him feeling of being unseen.

When he found a cab, he felt strange sensation, which is often called déjà vu. He checked cabby's face – he definitely hasn't seen him before. Sherlock's read out loud the address – the one Mycroft sent him with money.

Sherlock opened the door as soundless as he could. It was open. Of course it was. John was here.

He stepped in. The flat was very clean and seemed peaceful, until Sherlock heard noises coming out of the living room. He saw alarmed eyes looking out from a corner. He hasn't seen them for such a long period, but he remembered quite well how they looked.

John was holding some notes. His gaze stopped at Sherlock, not as alarmed as it was. He frowned and kept looking at consulting detective not letting a single muscle make move on his face. Watson looked both angry and sad at the same time, but above everything he seemed to be displeased.

Sherlock couldn't help but lower his eyes.

"Why are you here?" the very first words John said after such a long time.

Sherlock looked back at him. Now John seemed to be annoyed by his presence.

"I want to apologize." Sherlock has imagined this dialog many times in his head. He knew what he wanted to say and of course he knew what John will say. He didn't expect reaction like this though.

"You don't have to."

"John…I owe you thousand of apologizes; I do think I have to and I want to. Will you forgive me?"

"I've already forgiven you."

Sherlock went silent.

"Nevertheless, I would feel more comfortable if you said it out loud."

Now John was the one who went silent. He seemed to be perplexed and lost.

"Listen, Sherlock." he made long pause before saying his name. "It isn't going to change anything. It's over."

"I don't understand."

"Everything is over. Look, I'm very happy that you're back and everything seems to be alright with you…" John looked at him while saying last words and deeply regretted it.

"Anyway, I wish you the best in your…work."

"Aren't you going to join me? Wait, what is over?" he wanted to approach his friend, the one he didn't see in three years, but didn't make a move, he felt paralyzed.

John didn't reply. He closed his eyes for a moment and started saying words very clearly

"We're not friends anymore, Sherlock."

"Why?" the pause was almost inappropriate.

"Is it because I left for a long time, aiming to save your life? Is it because I was worried about you and I still am?" Sherlock couldn't control himself. He was angry to hear those words from John, he was angry that he couldn't cope with his emotions at the moment. Still he kept talking loudly. "Look, I know, it wasn't simple for you, neither was it for me. I had to do this. I couldn't tell you."

"You didn't have to." – He looked at him again and continued to speak with him in apologetic tone. "I know the situation, Sherlock. I know you had to disappear. But it's been three years. Not a year, but three and things have changed, you know."

"What precisely have changed?"

"My life, for example"

"May I ask in which way?"

John sighed and slowly turned his back to Sherlock.

"I knew you were alive. I knew all this time."

"You believed in me despite all the circumstances. You still do."

"No, listen, I KNEW you were alive. I didn't believe you were alive, I was sure."

Sherlock opened his mouth to say that he appreciates his faith and support. He was happy to hear this. Still, he closed his mouth, when he noticed John's furious face.

"The skull. I knew you took it, nobody could steal it and nobody needs it except you."

Sherlock looked at John to make sure that he is not lying or teasing. He wasn't.

"But…you moved twice by the time I took it. You weren't even in London!"

"Yes, I wasn't. But I returned to see this flat again. And you perfectly know why."

"Sentiments." Sherlock replied almost silently.

"Still make those deductions, don't you" Sherlock could swear that his friend smiled. But now his face was serious again.

"Mrs. Hudson could take it."

"No, she didn't touch a thing in your flat since you…died."

"You mean our flat."

"It was our flat."

"John, I know you're angry at me. You have every reason to be."

"I'm not angry at you. I am frustrated."

Sherlock frowned. He had no idea what his friends was talking about.

"You were gone for three years, Sherlock. It's a long time for ordinary people like me. All these years I tried to forget about you, that's what people often do when their best friends die or when they fake their death." tall man could hear sarcasm in these words. "You can't just simply walk back into my life. Despite this fact, I had to pretend that you were dead. I had to come every month on cemetery to stand in front of gravestone with your name on it, knowing that you're actually alive. I could feel their eyes on me. I was in danger because of you, many times!"

"I saved your life!" Sherlock couldn't help but cry these words out.

"You played with it." – said John, trying his best to stay calm.

Sherlock went silent again, tightly closed his eyes and hung his head.

"I do apologize for all inconvenience my presence has brought in your life."

"Just stop this polite shit. I've said it before, I've forgiven you. But I can't, and I don't think you could, start it again the same way."

Sherlock breathed out. "Alright." he kept silent for one minute. "Do you want to join me for the last time? I might need your help."

"I do think you can cope by yourself. I'm even sure that you already know who, how and why." said John with little smile. "I think it's better, if we won't see each other anymore. Imagine that this meeting had never happened."

Sherlock said not a word and walked out of the flat, fast and soundless as he came here.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

He was never into drinking until he lost him. Alcohol made feelings go away for a short time but they've never been completely erased. He felt angry and lost during the first year. The second year was full of fatigue, apathy and self-reproach. He found some distraction, when the third year came. Though his boss was dead, it didn't mean he hadn't some work to do. Sebastian read news articles on the Internet every day. Especially he paid attention to magically fast solved crimes. And of course he noticed the last news from France – it was a sign. And soon the day approached. The event that happened on this day wasn't important for Sebastian at all, but things that will be followed by this death were quite important for him.

When he was walking up the stairs of the old and empty building, he was refreshing 16th of June in his head. The day, when he woke up quite early from a text-alert. The message said: "Don't forget about Watson. JM."

It was dark outside the window and Sebastian thought about spending couple of hours in bed, when he received one more message: "Get up. It's important. JM." He replied quickly and got up of the bed. It was much brighter on the street, when he shut the door behind him. He never used a key, he just closed door while lighting his morning cigarette, not even looking back. He wasn't late, but he was very afraid to be. The house, where he rent his flat, was situated in very quite area after all.

He arrived just in time; he even had some spare minutes to smoke. And then he saw John Watson walking out of the cab. He saw Sherlock Holmes standing on the edge of hospital. He saw him falling. He saw John Watson's heart being torn apart, but he had no idea that exactly the same thing will happen to his.

When he was on his way home, he sent message to his boss and his friend: "Dinner?"

He smiled a bit when he pressed "sent". Everything was over now. That means that they can have some free-time and spend it together. With this positive thought he lifted his eyes up to see a paper-note on his door. He recognized handwriting immediately, but it took some time to fully realize the meaning of the words in this note.

"I'm sorry". He exhaled. His glassy eyes moved to the screen of his phone. Jim didn't reply. Sebastian closed his eyes tightly, trying to avoid any thoughts his brain was producing.

"No" he whispered.

He took aim.

The name of the man he was going to kill was on the back of this note. Many things were on the back of this note: apologizes, declarations, requests. One of these stated: "Kill Sherlock, if he's alive. Don't let him be alive when I am not".

He shot. Ronald Adair fell dead on the white carpet in his room.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Vulnerable – that's the word Sherlock Holmes would use to describe himself at the moment. The word he thought he'd never use referring to himself. The word that would never suit this man except this moment. He made his way to the crime scene to look up for evidences, when he left John's flat. He wasn't sure though, that police hasn't marked it as "crime scene" already. Well, it wasn't one.

Nevertheless, his thoughts were spinning around his conversation with John.

But why wasn't he right? He was always right, how come he wasn't this time? He was ready for punch, tears, faint, hug and swearing. He wasn't ready for rejection. Was he vulnerable because he wasn't right for the first time in his life, or because he didn't want to be rejected?

Sherlock slightly shook his head to destroy this annoying wave of the unnecessary thoughts. Unnecessary because he never let himself think about how he feel or how other people feel, it's useless for his work.

«Caring is not an advantage» - these five words drifted in his mind since he left his friend house. Pictures of John's angry face rapidly appeared in his mind palace like gunshots. He found this exact and important dialogue between him and John in here.

"Will caring about them help save them?"

"No."

"Then I'll continue not to make that mistake."

He didn't make that mistake, did he?

He opened the door of an old empty house, checking the houses that stood in front of him. One of them was surrounded by gapers and cars. Nobody noticed dark figure sneaking in the empty house, which wasn't exactly a crime scene. Sherlock went upstairs, noticing every detail and making quick deductions inside his brain. Some of them were improbable. And they were true. They must be.

He pushed the door on the second floor. It made an annoying noise. Sherlock stepped inside dusty room with his eyes closed.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Moran." one minute has passed before he uttered these words.

"It's nice to finally meet you, Mr. Holmes."

He felt cold object being pressed against back of his head. Only thing he could do now was raising his hands, to show the tall man that he's unarmed. Sebastian lowered his gun and made Sherlock turn to face him.

The world's only consulting detective has seen this man before, but only in pictures. Messy fair hair, tired dark-blue eyes and face of the man, who's been through war, through death and life. He reminded Sherlock about John. It made him angry for some reason. He felt vulnerable again.

"Why won't you just kill me already?" his voice sounded desperate and stern at the same time.

"I don't think I need to remind you one particular phrase about assassins."

"You don't."

"I want to talk."

"So do I. But you're not the person I'd like to talk to right now. Or ever."

"I've never understood why they called you a hero. You are more like devil."

"Your boss thought I was one of the angels."

"We all do mistakes."

"Are you going to make one? Because if you are, I am at your disposal." Sherlock spread his arms.

"So much for sacrifice and so changeable." Sebastian made familiar impression. "You want to be sacrifice, because everyone who's been with you, turned up to be your victim." he made a pause.

"You think you were the only one, who suffered. You think you were the only one, who cried at night, because there was no way of feeling more desperate."

"I don't…"

"Shut up." Sherlock thought he now would see little transparent tear running down blonde's face, but there wasn't one. The voice belonged to man, who has already sobbed out all of his tears.

"I just want you to understand, that you've got future in your arms. You've got what you want - everything. I don't. John is alive, aren't you happy? You should thank me for that.

How many times you thought he will go back to his soldier past and die in some dirty trench. Or that he will commit suicide? How many times you thought you will shoot yourself like Jim did?

I could kill John, you know. But I have no reason to."

"Why do you want to kill me then? It's not revenge."

"You're right. It's not, – he lifted the gun. – It's a tribute."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

_What is caring, exactly? I do not care. I am worried about certain people, yes, because I owe them. Isn't it one of these social patterns? I have to be worried about them, because they felt that way about me. I am thankful for that. _

_What has John made for me? Why do I owe him? He's my friend, he was at least. He's only one, who could really stand me and I am aware that it isn't simple thing. And I think he enjoys being my friend. _

They both heard something. Light steps.

Sebastian grabbed Sherlock's shoulder with his free hand and pressed muzzle against his temple. They were behind the slightly opened door.

When it was clear that one, whose steps they heard was there, a loud and sharp voice rang out.

"Please, Sebastian, do not hurt him."

Sherlock could feel how Moran's heart thumping. He lowered the gun and opened the door more to see new visitor.

The voice didn't sound familiar to Sherlock, but Sebastian could recognize this voice even in his sleep. He always associated that voice with velvet. He didn't like velvet, but it felt like this. Strong and soft, that's how it sounded. Sebastian was used to combination of impossible things.

He finally saw the face of the man he thought he will never see again.

Tall and thin person, with long black hair appeared in front of them. He was wearing long dark-green coat, same colour had his eyes. He looked straight at Sebastian. Apology can be read in his eyes.

"Hello, Sebastian."

Moran didn't answer back. He couldn't even bring himself to move. His mouth was slightly opened and eyebrows almost touched on the bridge of assassin's nose and his breathing was loud.

"Come on. Say it. Hello J-" the man, whom Sherlock didn't know, lowered his eyes and said it with little smile cracking on his lips, which were hidden in the dark. He didn't finish. Sebastian let Sherlock's shoulder and quickly approached to the man standing in the doorway. They didn't say a word. They were just looking straight into each other's eyes, when suddenly, after few moments, Sebastian tightly embraced the man. He was crying, a bit, yes. He left some tears for an extra-moment.

Sherlock felt lost. What he was doing here? Who is this man? And why he wants to do same thing to somebody. No, to someone.

When the man let go of Sebastian's grip, he looked straight at Sherlock.

"Don't you want to hug me too?" he asked with half-sarcastic smile on his face, opening his arms for an embrace. Before Sherlock could ask, who he is, the man awkwardly wrapped his long arms around his shoulders. He noticed that the man was holding cane, more like an accessory though. Sherlock recoiled.

"Who are you?"

"Don't you understand yet?" his eyes have flickered a bit in the dark, his hair were rocking slightly.

He turned his back, leaving Sherlock to his deductions. It took him less then one second.

When he lifted his eyes, he saw Sebastian placing his right arm gently on Jim Moriarty's cheek. He squeezed it softly.

"Please leave now. I'll be back soon." he said it very silently, the way people say words, when they don't want them to be heard.

Sebastian couldn't let go the man's hand, neither could he take his gaze away.

Jim nodded slightly and turned his face back to Sherlock. Moran left them alone.

They were speechless for couple of minutes. Moriarty started first.

"How's John?"

"It's not your business"

"Or is it?" the man came nearer to Sherlock. His voice sounded calm.

"No matter how you've done it…"

"Sherlock, please. You don't know how I've done it?"

"I have theories."

"I'm glad you do. What's your plan now?"

"What's yours?"

"All my plans are already done. I'm here to say goodbye actually."

"So we are both ended up with nothing?"

"Do I hear some hope in your words? I ended up with everything. I killed you." he drew an imaginary circle around Sherlock's face with his cane.

He didn't reply. He tried his best to show no emotions at all.

"Of course it was a lot of fun, playing with you. I have to admit you were great. Really great. But we were just playing. And this is just loosing."

Sherlock tried to change subject of their conversation.

"What happened to Brook?"

"I got rid of him" he shrugged.

"How?"

"You saw it with your own eyes." it seemed like Moriarty was talking about something routine and boring. He sighed.

"He had a family of course and I had some gunmen for them too. The same old story. I wasn't main villain though. You know, that thing about fairy-tales and villains was his idea, my hands are clear…as always. He was the one, who didn't play fair. Made a lot of trouble I had to fix."

"You are more like destroyer."

"And a bit of madman" he leaned on his black shiny cane, so his face was closer to Sherlock's.

"But I'm not like Richard's Moriarty at all, I'm quite opposite actually." he smiled.

"It doesn't really matter to me, if you are alive after that or not. I killed you. But it was too obvious, wasn't it? So I made another move. I warned you about it." He approached to Sherlock.

"I've burned." Jim came closer.

"The heart." he placed his finger right where Sherlock's heart was .

"Out." tips of their noses almost touched now.

"Of you. And you know it, I know it, everyone does – Sherlock Holmes has a heart. But the man, to whom this heart belongs, doesn't know what to do with it."

Sherlock felt his nostrils dilated from fury. The only thing he wanted to do was grabbing Moriarty's neck and squeezing it tightly till his last breath. What was happening to him?

He wasn't right again. He chose to play this game because he was so bored. And he lost it. Not so bored now, huh?

Sherlock looked in Jim's dark eyes trying to find right words to say. It always has to be right for him.

After a long pause Moriarty frowned and whispered, like he didn't want Sherlock to be disturbed.

"I do not have time for this." Sherlock shut his eyes and heard steps becoming quieter.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

When Sherlock was sure, that he was alone, he made whining sound and fell on the windowsill.

Tears, which were running down his pale face, felt warm and treacherous. He tried to hide his face with his hands. Ashamed and betrayed are new words to describe him. He was ashamed of himself and betrayed by himself. He also felt dumb. For the first time in his life he felt such a big fall of different emotions at the same time. What if he won't survive this one?

There were some memories of him crying. Most of them were aimed to get some information. Now he was crying because he lost game, his best and only one friend and his future. So much effort for nothing? For sitting in dusty old house, feeling something he wasn't aware he could feel? Sherlock's head almost touched his right knee. Could he fall asleep right here? Could he die right here?

There was a slight touch of someone's hand on his back. If he wasn't in condition like this, he surely would quickly rise to his feet to see who this is. He lifted his head slowly instead.

Of course it was John. Who _else_ could it be? He looked at Sherlock with fear and regret.

«I should never leave you alone. Not for a second» his warm hands slid into Sherlock's, which were wet from tears.

"Please. I don't want you to see… - Sherlock's voice was shaking - …to remember me like this"

John sat down beside him and pressed his lips against cold hands.

Then Sherlock was crying and swearing loudly, still sitting on windowsill. He wanted to punch John and wanted to kiss him. His weeping was mixed with unintelligible apologizes.

John was crying too and squeezing his hands. He finally embraced Sherlock, because he wanted him to be incredibly near, he wanted to be sure that it's not dream or hallucination.

"How can I cope with this?" Sherlock mumbled surprisingly calm.

"Nobody can."

"Forgive me, John, for putting you in danger. For everything."

"It's alright"

"Do you still want to be my friend?"

John slowly shook his head. "I'm so sorry for everything I said to you." he whispered.

Sherlock gave no answer, just laid his tired head on John's shoulder.

"I always believed you were a human. You proved it."

"Did I? Then I am glad that you are the only person, who knows it."


End file.
